He Calls it 'Trade'
by Phantom Ice
Summary: Colonial-Era/Eve of the Revolution; America stares down at the toy in his hands, and then down at his long time caretaker and best friend. England didn't seem to notice the internal struggle going on inside the colony as he babbled on about craftsmanship and taxes, and Alfred just couldn't understand how the Empire didn't see that this was not okay.


America stared down at the wooden object in his hands and the longer he stared the more he felt the anger (completely and totally righteous anger, by the way!) slowly bubbling up inside him. For the most part, the older country in front of him didn't seem to take much notice. His big brother (though he had never wanted to be called that, and lately Alfred had been less inclined to do so even had Arthur wanted it) had a fond smile on his face and was still talking about the small object he had given Alfred to examine.

"- and is not the craftsmanship wonderful? It is a shame it is to be employed for the use of children, they are sure to chafe the smoothly sanded surface–"

With every word Alfred's grip grew tighter. How dare he. How dare England try to sell this to him! The... the... well he didn't have a word for it (many many many years later he would find one in 'audacity'), but it was a darn stuck up big headed thing to do! He heard England try to bullshit him with words of craftsmanship and whatnot in order to justify the ridiculous price (which doesn't even make sense because they both know the extra money is in taxes, not wages), and as he watched the small wooden toy boat splintered in his tightening grip. Sometimes America lost track of his own strength. This wasn't one of those times. England paused in horror.

"Alfred! What has gotten into you?! That is no way for a gentleman to behave! You do realize you will be forced to pay for that, wasting perfectly good British craftsmanship like that..."

Therein lied the final straw.

"British craftsmanship, maybe, but you're not about to tell me this was made in Great Britain!" He squeezed the toy smaller and another part splintered off.

"America! Stop that immediately! What are you speaking of?"

"What am I talking about? I'll tell you what I'm talking about! I made this toy!"

"I assure you, I do not know what you are referring to," 'big brother' England at least had the common decency to blush and break eye contact nervously.

"No idea what I'm talking about? No idea my ass!–"

"–Alfred! Language!–"

"–Look at this!" He held the crumbling toy boat up against the bark of a nearby tree in the outdoor market. "Look familiar?!" He didn't know if Arthur, the stuck up lazy prick, could tell as easily as he could that the wood was the same, but he was sure the older (though not taller, something that had bothered him when he first realized it upon England's last return, but now saw as perhaps a sign of some sort) nation got the basic idea.

"Now, America, there is no need to get worked up like this, it is not proper to do so in public–"

"Public smublic! Like you don't get 'pissed' of your 'arse' in the middle of the street whenever things get difficult back at your house!" Alfred didn't mean to say it, not really.

America looked up to England, he did. Arthur was strong and sure of himself, and so when France had told a (physically) ten years old America that his big brother nation was a closet drunk, he hadn't put much stock into the claim. It was stupid, England was too proper and... and good and strong for that. The image of him intoxicated, slumped over, and helpless like men he had seen in colonial taverns... little Alfred couldn't imagine it.

The stricken look on Arthur's face now told him otherwise (and that sort of hurt to know, because it meant Arthur had sort-of-not-exactly raised him under a lie).

"Where- where did you hear that?" England's forest green eyes were wide, shock rendering him temporarily unable to react.

He looked heartbroken, Alfred took mercy that would one day be returned to him on a wet and muddy battlefield.

"It doesn't matter," it really did matter, "the point is, I can't believe you're trying to sell this to me!" The toy once again became the center of attention.

"I still fail to see the issue you seem to have with a child's plaything being sold on our land–" England somewhat recovered from the discovery that his young charge knew. Knew that he wasn't perfect, that maybe, just maybe he wasn't the indestructible invulnerable person the boy had thought, that he was no longer the same great country he had been when he first discovered the little tyke seemingly so long ago (yet at the same time, not long enough).

"It's not about the toy and you know it! I. Made. This. Toy. This wood is from my forests, was cut down by one of my people, and that 'wonderful' craftsmanship is thanks to one of my carpenters! One of my carpenters who was forced to sell it to you! You who then shipped it to Great Britain, sanded it down, and put this stupid 'Made in the Great British Empire' etching on it–"

"–well technically the etching was done at my house–"

"–and now you're trying to sell it back to me for over five times the price I sold it to you for!"

"Really, Alfred, there is no need to become so worked up over this, you know as well as I do the price of shipping, and the taxes, as you well know, are quite necessary, therefore the price is in no way unreasonable,"

"In no way unreasonable?! You're stupid taxes are insane! You can't just come out of the blue and charge me extra on every little thing I buy for the first time in ever without any say on my part and expect everything to be fine!"

"Excuse me, my boy, but I do believe the order of His Majesty King George the III is plenty enough for you to be fine with this change in policy! The word of your king should not be so dismissed," England scolded. The powerful nation then turned away, continuing to speak as if the last few bits of dialogue had never happened. "I will have our merchants exchange the goods, do remember that we will no longer accept paper money, only precious metal, and–"

America hardly restrained the urge to throw the toy at his caretaker. Instead he took a breath and interrupted the Empire.

"I am not buying this,"

England froze and turned back around.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I am not buying this, or do you need me to write it down... Not that I will with that other ridiculous tax on paper,"

"America, don't be silly, of course you wi–"

"No, I won't. In fact, I'm not purchasing any taxed goods from you anymore, nothing. Consider it a... Boycott,"

England had never looked more stunned to America than he did just then.

"A... A boycott?! Where did you hear such a word?! It was France, wasn't it? The frog, filling your head with silly things like that, I'm going to skin him alive–"

"Do whatever you want, 'Great' Britain, just don't expect me to buy it."

With that America dropped the ruined toy to the floor and walked away, making sure to step on it as he did. England had gone to far, and he would not allow it. As it be God's will, America would stand up against injustice, even against his powerful caretaker, and even if it took the power of all his settlements, united, to do it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN**: Lame ending is lame, but it was an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so I did. This is slightly based on true historical fact, though with a slight exaggeration on England bring back pretty much the same project to America. In reality America would likely have just supplied the wooden block or such. Though, as we all know, the taxes part was quite true, both on the toy and on the paper, the paper one better known as the 'Stamp Act', which was in fact boycotted successfully by the American colonists._

_Wow. I almost can't believe it, my first non-Danny Phantom story, even if it does end awkwardly and isn't the best written thing in the world... Am I the only one who finds the Hetalia characters extremely hard to write correctly?_

_Well, please **review**! _


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